The seasonal expressions of plants can serve as a bridge, reconnecting each of us to the grand and timeless cycles of nature, an often overlooked backdrop behind the busy pitter-patter of daily human activity. Easiest of all to recognize and feel is the exuberant spring explosion of wild flowers, joyous and vivacious. For those in more northern climates, there is the fall changing of the leaves from green to gold, red and orange.

But, what is there going on right now, here in central Texas? After all, our trees don’t respond to the shortening days with the abrupt urgency of trees preparing for fall freezes. There is still enough warmth and light to make it practical for trees to keep green leaves engaged and active for at least a month or so longer. Even then, it will be a gentle transition – the leaves will hang on, turning brown and dropping slowly, and the moment the tree turns bare will come quietly.

Swaying in the Breeze

There is, however, another herald of fall here in central Texas that is less obvious and yet when truly seen is as beautiful and ubiquitous as any. It’s the seeding of wild grasses, forming rippling waves in the breeze and lacy veils through which to view the sunrise and sunsets. For most people, wild grasses are something to ignore, cut, manage, overlook or be annoyed with. Even more aggressively, chemical warfare is often waged on grasses in an effort to keep properties looking tidy and neat. Brown trenches of poisoned, dead and dying plants are now viewed as the preferred style by many landowners.

A wonder of grasses is that their meristem (“growing cells”) is at the base of the stalk, and not the tip (which is where the meristem resides in a broadleaf plant or tree). To put this in practical terms, a tree dies when it is chopped down because the meristem was at the tip, but when a grass is chopped down, it keeps growing. This is because grasses evolved to be grazed on. The explosion of grasses across the globe corresponds to the rise in mammals, in particular the vast herds of grazing animals such as buffalo. Human society also owes much to the great grass food crops of wheat, barley, corn and oats.

A Blade of Perfection

Common central Texas varieties of grass include Bermuda, grama, bluestem, switchgrass, Indian grass and Johnson grass. But don’t really worry about the names –and especially resist the urge to label grasses as weeds or invaders. Those labels distract from the appreciation of their subtle perfection. Instead, notice the differences in the seed heads, the height and thickness of the stems. I particularly love how grasses ripple in the breeze, like rounded waves on a green ocean.

This image is captured beautifully in many Japanese animations, where the artists come from a tradition of seeing the extraordinary beauty in the ordinary. The graceful swaying in the slightest breeze can be appreciated even while in the car at a stoplight by observing tall grasses that haven’t been tamed yet. Just as splendid is viewing the sun through filigreed grass heads. These images are hard to capture in words or photos – they must be experienced firsthand.

The sultry air thickened as the hot and humid evening sky darkened. The sunset turned the wispy clouds improbably garish shades of pink and black. I was enjoying this sunset sitting next to a tiny, wild and unkempt “Walden’s Pond” – a natural pond no larger than a backyard swimming pool. The evening chorus of frogs started up and my dogs romped enthusiastically. All was right in the world. Then the onslaught started – familiar high frequency buzzing followed by unmistakable biting and itching.

Mosquitos were disrupting my pleasant musings and sunset gazing. But part of my agreement with Walden’s Pond is to let it be – to learn to embrace what is. To appreciate the connections of not just the cute and friendly, but also the darker side of Texas wildlife – mosquitos included! At that moment though, it was tempting to start planning a chemical counter attack….

Dragonflies decorate a dead oak tree

The next morning in the brightness of a fresh day came a brilliant reminder of the magic of watching and learning. The morning air was filled with hundreds of dragonflies – blues, greens, yellows, reds, spotted and unspotted. Jewels all, celebrating the morning sun with their aerial acrobatics. Of course, here is the answer! Dragonflies love mosquitos! The flight of the dragonfly, after all, is as top gun as the most highly maneuverable fighter jet – turning on a dime to catch mosquitos and other small insects in mid-air.

In Texas, we have over 100 different species of dragonflies. Common names include such wonderfully evocative names as Skimmers, Meadowhawks, Pondhawks, Pennants, Darners, Cruisers, Spiketails and, my favorite, the Shadowdragon. Interestingly, most species of dragonfly exhibit sexual dimorphism. This means that it is possible to tell if a dragonfly is a girl or a boy simply by looking at its coloring or shape.

But this morning, instead of reflecting on such textbook knowledge, I looked up and really paid attention to the limbs of a dead oak tree. Decorating each branch, at the very tip, was a dragonfly. It was as if the tree were in full bloom, but instead of a flower, each branch terminally blossomed into a dragonfly. Each was facing into the wind, ready to take off at a moment’s notice. Sailing into destiny.

There is no need to travel to far and distant lands in order to catch a glimpse of bizarre and interesting creatures or minute monsters. Even in a city park, a sidewalk crack or sometimes invading home space, there is a parallel world of wildlife quite overlooked. This week, mid-June in Central Texas, has offered a series of sightings of miniature monsters that are just creatures that live among us. Here, two of them provide pleasing symmetry. One, a type of wild cockroach that is commonly labeled as a pest, hides delicately and shyly. The other, a stick insect that is generally regarded as pleasant and harmless, was well-armed for self-defense.

Green Fairy Cockroaches

Hidden nestled in the cracks of a sidewalk – a leafy and delicate spring green cockroach. This is not the palmetto bug or German cockroach that colonizes poorly cleaned houses. This cockroach is neither a pest nor a carrier of pestilence. Instead, this is Panchlora nivea, commonly known as the Cuban Cockroach. Panchlora nivea, as a name, first refers to the “all green” coloring and secondly purity, like snow. Name origins aside, observing a creature like this is an opportunity to “drop the labels” and to “see what is” behind the thick veil of opinions and judgments that cloud perceptions. Once the repugnance of the word “cockroach” is overlooked, it is possible to see that these are no more noxious then a grasshopper and they live mostly in the wild. Here, she is delicately hiding in a crack in the sidewalk, avoiding my intrusive interests.

The Trooper Stickbugs

The second creature is neither innocuous nor shy. And yet, this insect was still hidden – hidden in plain view during a dusk walk through a park that is a popular greenway paralleling roads filled with apartments, shopping and eating establishments. The wide inviting sidewalk was busy with bikers, dog walkers and groups of people enjoying an evening stroll in the fine Texas summer evening.

I, too, was enjoying a walk, alone and yet together with all that is. Suddenly, I realized that what I initially thought to be, literally, sticks or tree debris were indeed sticks – walking sticks. Each 3- to 5-inch-long insect was confidently standing its ground among the busy foot traffic. So oblivious to danger, many were squished. Clearly, most of the pedestrians were equally oblivious to the insects – passing like ships in the night.

While I am familiar with stick insects, these were different from the usually thin specimens I have previously encountered. Each of these had a thick and robust body. Stick insects are generally harmless. Confidently, I picked one of the thicker sticks up in order to move it out of danger off the concrete and onto the grass. My reward was to be bombarded with a copious volume of noxious chemical. I moved her anyway, but treated additional ones with a bit more difference and respect. Sure enough, each one, when bothered, sprayed acrid liquid. With such a defense, it is no wonder each insect paraded with such confidence.

No matter how long I have lived here in Central Texas, there is always more to see and learn.

My last post saw me at the Newark Liberty International Airport, where I was catching the evening plane to Mumbai, the Gateway of India. As I waited, I documented my expectations, anticipations as well as some reservations. I also wondered whether I would find nature in Mumbai.

Now two months later, people often ask me what Mumbai was like? It was more – more than I expected or anticipated.

One of Mumbai’s entrepreneurs

A Surprising City of Entrepreneurs

Mumbai is a busy, burgeoning city with millions of young people. Each person is staking their claims on the future by working hard today.

There were businesses everywhere. Many are housed in the miles after miles of shanty towns. Each shanty is the size of an average living room in a typical U.S. house and is without indoor plumbing or electricity at night. Many are built in vacant lots or on the sidewalks.

Some of these businesses make small sanctuaries that hold statues of the various Hindu gods. Others repair tires or bits of machinery. Many sell fruits and crispy snacks. People working. People getting to work, crammed into tiny tuk tuk cars packed on a busy highway.

What I did not encounter were beggars. Presumably with millions of people living in slums, there are probably just not enough handouts to go around. As a result, Mumbai is a city that favors those whose plan is to work hard at whatever they can. It’s a practical, innovative and resourceful place, spurred on no doubt by the ready evidence of what conditions are like for those who don’t succeed.

A monkey in Sanjay Gandhi National Park

It is telling that one of the most grand and popular sites for Indian visitors to Mumbai is the stunning Shree Siddhivinayak Temple, dedicated to Ganesha, who is particularly meaningful when starting new ventures in life. With the promise of glamorous Bollywood stars and glimpses of the fabulous wealth for those who have proven successful in business, Mumbai is a destination for Indian travelers and wealthy businesspeople the world over.

Unexpected Nature in Mumbai

But would I find unspoiled stillness and nature tucked away in this teaming city, one of the most populous in the world? I did, in the most unexpected way. A short distance from our hotel was the Sanjay Gandhi National Park. The entrance to the park is right on the main highway that cuts through Mumbai and it is surrounded by busy small tin-roofed shantytowns. Drive into the park and up the hill, and suddenly the people are gone and instead there is a protected forest filled with the exotic denizens of India’s mysterious past – deer and monkeys and parrots.

Liz at the Kanheri Caves in Sanjay Gandhi National Park

We were told that the basalt outcrop contained a series of caves decorated with carvings made between 100 BC and 1000 AD, when the area housed a Buddhist monastery, but that the carvings were nothing special. What we found, in fact, was a treasury of perfect Buddhas. Some were 50 feet tall while others had 11 heads. Some Buddhas had ancient Chinese lettering showing that the monastery had attracted devotees from far outside the immediate area.

On top of the hill, with the caves under foot and nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees, was a solitude of bushes strewn with tattering of prayer flags that flapped in the wind, sending homage to the eternally drifting clouds overhead. Yes, if you look, there is nature in Mumbai.

– from the song “Available Light” by Neil Peart, drummer and lyricist for the rock band Rush

This Saturday evening finds me waiting at the Newark, NJ airport to catch the evening plane to Mumbai, the Gateway of India.

To say this is the start of an adventure is an understatement. I’ve never been to India, but this is a trip I’ve always dreamed of taking. India – so many expectations and anticipations; so many imaginations of India. Now, on the brink of experiencing Mumbai firsthand, I am reflecting on my imagined Mumbai. Tomorrow at this time, it will be firsthand experience. So tonight, I am documenting my expectations. Really though, there are too many to write about!

Facing Reality as a Temper to Expectations

What I imagine is a city of flickering dichotomies – extreme poverty and the push of crowds, yet an Industrial and modern city. Many of us are old enough to remember when Mumbai went by the name of Bombay. Certainly, few place names evoke a mystique sense of exotic adventure in distant lands — of wild tigers and bejeweled elephants — than do India and Bombay in particular. I will be looking for evidence of the past grandeur, mostly swept away under relentless progress and development.

Is it still a world of colorful clothes, brass and wood idols, incenses, wild monkeys, ornate temples? Or has all that been swept away by Starbucks and global homogenization? I hope to experience all of these.

The music of India, in particular the iconic sitar, is compelling. Admittedly, my knowledge comes mostly from the Beatles’ songs like “Norwegian Wood” as well as “Within You Without You.”

All the fantasy is tempered by the knowledge that the city is interlaced with one of the largest slums in the world. Slum Dharavi alone is estimated to be home to around one million souls. I will probably attract a great many beggars and touters. I know all the money I have would not make the slightest dent in the grinding poverty. I also know I will feel responsible for every child. How will I deal with the wrench of hard realities?

The Texas spring comes in not as a lion and out as a lamb, but rather is a series of crashing waves. Mountain ranges of storm clouds roll in with howling, biting cold fronts and then ebb, leaving trails of gentle warmth and brilliant sun. Usually these extremes from below freezing temperatures to the upper 70s happen all in the same week (and often all in the same day). The flora of Texas navigates a delicate dance responding to these mixed signals. Bloom too soon in response to beckoning spring days of welcoming warmth and the reward will be quick termination by a heartless killing frost. Bloom too late by taking the cautious approach of responding only to lengthening spring daylight and the reward will be a delayed start that leads to getting lost and shaded under a towering leafy canopy.

The Start of the Cycle of Spring

By late December, open fields and pastures are brown and naturally cropped short as plant growth ceases but relentless herbivory continues. Plants that would have been scorned in more bountiful periods become acceptable food for myriad of animals, small and large. The tall forage is nibbled down and this opens the surface of the earth to direct sunlight, which presents an opportunity. In a few weeks, the area will be elevated skyward as robust flowers and grasses vie to be tallest to grab up all the light.

This dance between extreme temperatures and the opening of the sky all the way to the ground manifests a unique opportunity. In the warm temporal troughs between each of the cold fronts and physically positioned at the very junction of earth and sky, an ephemeral space opens. This fleeting window favors the tiny plants who germinate, grow and flower in miniature, completing their cycles before being shaded by their taller and thicker cousins.

Look Down to See the Leprechaun World

It is easy to tread across this leprechaun world unbeknownst to the magic beneath our very feet. From a distance, the field looks brown and barren and short. Looking down from humans’ lofty five-foot to six-foot crowns, our own eyes are situated far from the ground.

An apparently barren field

The view while standing

Kneeling down, what is here is revealed. At the base is a carpeted infinity of dicot seedlings, the first germinations from last year’s sowing. As anyone who has soaked beans for cooking, cracked nuts or eaten roasted peanuts knows, seeds split into two halves. When a dicot plant germinates, these two halves become the “seed leaves” (cotyledons) containing a start-up tank of starches to be used before the tiny plant’s own photosynthetic machinery are up and running fully. These seed leaves are the birthing gift from the seedling’s mother. The cotyledons of many plants are quite non-descript compared with the true leaves and, thus, give little indication of what the adult plant will be.

Towering at only 1 or 2 inches, legions have already sprouted, matured, and flowered close to the surface of the earth between the breaks in the weather. Among these is a duo of yellow sorrels and yellow clover, whose appearance heralds upcoming Saint Patrick’s Day. With distinctive trinity of heart-shaped leaves, sorrels and clovers are quite recognizable and they are often mistaken for each other.

Sorrel, next to Liz’s ring

Clover, next to Liz’s ring

The similarity is quite superficial, however, as the two are not closely related at all. Sorrels, aka Oxalis, grow on single stems with regular whirled flowers. Clover’s trillium leaves appear on branching runners and the irregular flowers grow in a ball-like cluster. In comparison with my ring (which is only ¾-inch in diameter and serves as a handy size scale), the miniature-ness of these can be more easily appreciated. Sorrels can be eaten and are a tart and tasty treat while clovers add nitrogen to starved soils.

During the heat of summer in a few months’ time, the more delicate sorrels will be relegated to shady understory while hardy clovers will form mounding mats seemingly impervious to the blasting rays. But for now, as trailblazers of spring, these two are mates, growing side-by-side in miniature form. Both are part of a hidden world in plain view that is as magical as any Leprechaun’s tale.

I stayed in Santa Fe over the 2016 Christmas break. Just outside the “Sangre de Cristo Mountains of New Mexico.” As any Paul Simon fan will recognize, that is a line from his 1983 song “Hearts and Bones,” written about his brief marriage to actress Carrie Fisher. So I was in a most fitting place to hear her sad news, a journey that started a long time ago….

There is no question that Santa Fe and the surrounding deserts are a world-class destination for experiencing nature. The stark rugged landscape with entire geological timespans in the form of thrusting rocky sills, eroded volcanic cores and impassive mesas bring the vastness of the universe and the relative insignificance of daily human dramas into clear focus. This realization is centering. The union of internal universal vastness and stillness with external universal vastness and stillness bypass the thin sill of personal concerns that seeks to divert awareness from this deeper understanding.

Original photo by Alfred Stieglitz

Georgia on My Mind

One of the main attractions of Santa Fe is the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. O’Keeffe, who was born in 1887 and died in 1986, had a palatable drive to express her visions unfettered by conventional — which is to say third-party — sensibilities. Her images of landscapes, cityscapes, bones and flowers are recognizably brilliant manifestations of direct expression. With direct expression, there is an immediate connection between clear observation and representation of this observation.

Direct expression is the heart of creative expression; it bypasses the more typical tendency to filter observations through conventional stylistic thought. In other words, true creative expression is not pandering to copying or filtering the vision through unoriginal ideas of how things “ought to look” based on what is popular, cool or what other people will like and value.

But how to see, outside the common filter of convention? Look at what is, without judgment. The most common judgment that limits direct vision is the judgment of what is “worthy or not worthy.” This leads to dismissal of what is here now as not being significant enough to warrant attention. This is particularly true of nature. There is an overwhelming tendency to appreciate glorious scenery while ignoring the everyday. And so we often limit our appreciation of nature to the short time we are visiting a world-class destination (such as a national park or historic site) while ignoring the nature that is here/now, whatever it might be.

Celebrating a Wildflower

O’Keeffe’s brilliance lay not only with her ability to represent the blatantly and obviously majestic New Mexico landscapes, but also in her extraordinary representation of the common wildflower in a way the world had not seen before. O’Keeffe expressed this ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary in her famous quotes such as “I decided that if I could paint that flower in a huge scale, you could not ignore its beauty” and “Nobody sees a flower – really – it is so small it takes time – we haven’t time – and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.”

Common evening primrose

The value of art for helping people see the extraordinary in the ordinary was brought home during my visit to the O’Keeffe Museum. The elderly docent, standing in front of a painting featuring vertebra and a primrose against the New Mexico landscape, said she had never seen a primrose before seeing this painting. However, it is more likely that she has seen them but just did not notice this wildflower. That’s because one of the most common wildflowers in the Southwest is a type of primrose that forms immense pink blankets along roadsides, parks and yards.

By conventional practice, the simple beauty of common weeds is usually overlooked. O’Keeffe did not overlook common flowers; instead, she saw and expressed the extraordinary in the ordinary. Furthermore, she did not look once and then dismiss them afterwards as “too common” or “I’ve seen those before – no big deal.” Instead, O’Keeffe took what was around her and looked deeply, and looked again, and then took the time to look yet again. Doing this, she created a whole new field of art that is still fresh and resonates today. And so I leave you with a picture of a common yet glorious evening primrose. The image of this wildflower was taken in 2014 because it is too early for their bloom this year, but they will come! When they do appear this year, don’t be afraid to look deeply at their sublime beauty!

Dull gray drizzle shrouds the dark cedar boughs, barely visible in the dim fog of a cold and damp winter afternoon. The day’s sun is fading fast. It wasn’t too many years ago when such an afternoon would have sent me on a downward spiral.

An avid sun-worshiper, I viewed the shortening days of winter as a period of time to get through as quickly as possible. My eyes were always on the prize of future dates with late evening sunshine. Short days and the passing of hours lit only by the soulless glare of florescent work lights combined with the routine of waking up in the dark, heading to work in the dark and not getting out of work until after night fell again would merge into a blurred sensation of isolation and separation.

Instead of seeing what there was to see in winter, my mantra was to keep my head down and avoid the dark by focusing on what needed to be done or, more often, just going to bed at ridiculously early times. “Keep busy, think about other things, or just sleep, and the season will pass” was my mantra.

Being Present in Winter’s Darkness

Avoidance, though, is the antithesis of present moment awareness. To be truly present and in the moment, negative judgments and self-images such as “I am someone who doesn’t like when it gets dark so early” are part of what drops. As I accepted more and more that the way out of seasonal depression was actually the way in, a new view of the winter world came into focus. I learned more and more to escape the mental fog created and perpetuated by what I thought were my surroundings. Instead, it was really created by my negative thinking about my surroundings. And, miraculously, an appreciation for the miracle of winter lights appeared.

Liz’s Walden Pond on a crisp December morning

Winter is not really devoid of light! The special beauty of winter light is just subtler and less obvious than on a clear, sunshiny summer day. I started a practice of periodically taking a deep breath and rising up from whatever intellectual or emotional mind-occupying task was at hand to look clearly at the light that’s around now.

This practice was easiest at first when in nature. In the woods, the gray sky forms a perfect backdrop to bring to the forefront the many hues and textures of tree barks in winter. Often tiny mosses are encased in frozen droplets, like natural snow globes. At the beach, winter storms heave and moan the spindrift-capped waves. A bonus of short days is that sunrise walks can occur at a comfortable time.

It took much longer to start to see the miracle of winter lights in town or city. I don’t live where it snows so that avenue of imagery is not part of my daily experience. But in a cold wet city, even more mundane creations — such as asphalt and buildings — gain an edgy sheen in winter. It is a miracle how winter light really comes in so many nuanced flavors.

The Many Lights of Winter

Whether in the country or the city, however, the real gem of winter lights actually appear in the dark of night. Away from city lights, the crisp bright sparkles of milk-sprayed stars on a frozen cloudless night are revealed. The silver wash of the full moon in deep winter, casting long midnight shadows, forms a mood of infinite stillness. In town, trails of car headlights and taillights snake for miles, each car a tiny cell in the metropolitan organism. A bit of rain turns the reflective blur of red, yellow, white and green city lights in the most mundane strip malls into light-splattered scenes that would delight the French impressionistic painters.

I might never be someone who prefers winter to summer, but the transformation from loathing to enjoyment is enough for me. Whatever season or condition is here now — be it short days or long days — is always the perfect season to see the light.

Walden — often referred to as “Walden Pond” by Henry David Thoreau — is a masterpiece published in 1854, the romantic period of American Literature. In it, Thoreau describes his longing for a return to the simpler life. He conducts a grand experiment and resides alone for two years in the woods on the bank of Walden Pond, a glacial remnant lake in Concord, Massachusetts. There, he revels in the timeless quietude and tranquility as he pursues the daily requirements of finding food and shelter. He eventually returns to civilization to reflect upon the experience.

Finding Thoreau’s Tranquility in Today’s World

The irony for present-day readers is that the civilization Thoreau returned to is logarithmically less complicated technologically then our world today. From our perspective, returning to the “simpler time” would be returning to what he would consider to be the “rat race.” This is yet another example of how perception clouds one’s interpretation of events as good or bad.

Liz Summer’s version of Walden Pond

Definitions of rat race aside, any reasonable person from any generation who knows me would agree that my own situation is heavily impacted by modern technology and time constraints. Pressure and responsibility just go with the territory of serving in the key role as science officer in a biotechnology company.

This pressure, though, has created a window through which to see a miracle that I otherwise might have overlooked – my own “Walden Pond.” This pond is not a crystalline lake containing all the elements needed for my own sustenance. Instead, it is what on the surface would be accurately described as a mankey, a snake-filled, weed-choked, 100-foot-in-diameter mud pit. It sits in my back pasture and serves as a drinking hole, the sort of feature usually referred to as a “tank” by local ranchers.

Taking an Au Naturel Approach

My Walden Pond revealed its true nature quite slowly. I started with a simple premise – to keep it as pure to nature as possible. This means that managing the pond is simple; I actually relinquish the urge to “manage” and “improve” and “design” and “repair” and — most of all — “fix” the pond. Instead, I put a little chair next to the pond in a tiny cleared spot and there I sit. I take my approach from my Southern grandmother who had a sign on her porch that said, “Sometimes I Sits and Thinks, and Sometimes I Just Sits.”

From this small unpromising pond I witness the great cycles of nature where inexplicably a burst of one type of creature or flowers emerges. One month, the sky will be filled with thousands of glittery dragonflies – five or six species at least – engaged in aerial acrobatics required to snag small pray from the sky. At another point, the surface will be clear of weeds and then suddenly a carpet of tiny duckweed (each tiny leaf no bigger than size 11 font “o”) forms a silver green mat as impassive as an asphalt parking lot, blanketing the waves. Other seasons the extreme choruses of frogs fill the summer nights with jubilant songs.

A tiny toad that Liz found by the pond during a drought

Learning to Rejoice in Nature’s Cycles

One summer before I fully learned the true power of Walden Pond, I witnessed a tiny miracle. After months without rain, Central Texas was gripped in the claws of a fierce drought. The pond slowly receded, sad mats of drying algae exposed to the heartless baking of the summer sun. It was enough to make me consider filling the pond; anyone would perceive that as a logical and necessary move towards “helping” it.

But instead, I just looked more closely — and glimpsed special life that thrives particularly well along the edges of a drying pond. It was, as it were, their “time in the sun.” For the most part, I first saw thousands of tiny insects. But soon tiny toads – no larger than the tip of a pinky finger — followed the insects’ explosion. Each toad was able to hop maybe a ½-inch at a time. Each was so impossibly fragile and defenseless, living out their destiny as best they could in the space between the sun-baked cracked mud and the dark gooey depths.

The Secret Garden, a childhood sentimental favorite, describes a garden that on the surface is a disorganized pit of weeds, neglect and disarray. For the lost children and fragmented adults who, for what ever reason, pay attention to the garden instead of thoughtlessly dismissing it, the true nature of the garden is the vibrant energy of life that fundamentally heals and makes whole. The final quote of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic book describes a deeper and timeless reality: “If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden.”

But how to “look the right way”? In today’s suburbanized, subdivided, oversubscribed world, being one with nature is often scheduled in as a side trip on a long holiday – “Day 2, Visit Aunt Gertrude; Day 3, Hike to Lookout Over Appalachian Trail; Day 4, Outlet Mall….” The tacit and unexamined assumption is the “Secret Garden” — the healing garden all around of wildlife and nature — is somehow separate from our daily existence. If time outside is no more than the time it takes from going out the front door to getting in the car (essentially moving from

Texas Dandelion – weed or sublime beauty?

an air-conditioned cave into an air conditioned box to power along a concrete river), then perhaps the ability to see “The Garden All Around” has not been realized and explored.

Finding Beauty in Life Right Now

The exercise is this: to find beauty and life all around, here and now. To realize and experience the miracle of the garden all around, almost every unexamined assumption of what the garden is must be brought to light and considered. It’s easy to look at a snow-covered mountain range, an exotic orchid or a powerful whale and be inspired by the miracle of life and our beautiful planet. However for most of us, those grandiose scenes worthy of inspirational quote memes are not realities in our everyday existence.

My own residence on the outskirts of a small city in central Texas is noticeably short in the obviously grand, stunning and majestic. Many people who move here from other states will spend decades complaining that it is an ugly area. Are they justified in this sentiment because there is “no garden here”? Or perhaps is it because the beauty that is here does not fit their preconceived narrow concepts of what is or is not beautiful? The truth is the garden is all around but they can’t see it. If you live in a heavily developed area, perhaps you too want to consider whether there really is no secret garden all around you – or whether instead you have not learned how to see it?

Purple spiderwort is a very common inhabitant of damp shaded areas. Each flower is crowned perfection.

Take A Closer Look Around

The process is this: Look closely at weeds and small things and leave the judgments behind. The miracle of nature can be found anywhere; it is only the mind’s labeling and judging that separates us from this beauty. Labels are the mind’s judgment about what is even worth looking at to begin with. To start exploring, simply find a patch of plants growing in apparent disarray. Good areas include your own fence line, poorly kept parks, the side of the road, unmowed areas, vacant lots, drainage areas, the grassy dividers in mega-shopping center parking lots. These areas usually do not even register as existing until you look closely. Stop, just look, listen, and be with what is. Don’t think, label, compare or judge either yourself or the situation. Don’t compare what you are now seeing to what you have seen elsewhere. If you think “This is a waste of time because it is nothing compared to my holiday in Hawaii,” then you will never find the garden. The garden is not a memory or story – the garden is here/now.

If you really look without judgment, a plethora of vibrant wildlife appears – filigreed foliage, tiny bouquets of flowers no bigger than a grain of rice, kingdoms of busy little creatures living out their destinies, the bending of dried grasses in the sun, the rustle of wind through the branches or leaves. Often the most beautiful flowers are those the critical mind wants to label as “weeds.” I love taking pictures of weeds because each is so perfect and beautiful. Look, listen and feel what is here and now, whether it’s the breeze on your face or the clouds endlessly marching across the sky. From this humble beginning, the peace, stillness and true beauty of all is revealed.